


Not to surrender

by 1amkeit



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, M/M, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-05-16 03:31:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5812162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1amkeit/pseuds/1amkeit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Being captured is beside the point,<br/>the point is not to surrender."</p>
<p>A Turkey/Germany sex slave!AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sadik tugs on the reins of his horse, pausing at the top of the hill which overlooks _Tounes_ ’s port. He pats the side of his horse’s neck, peering down at the ships as he awaits his friend. 

The galleass stands out like a giant.

It’s a floating fortress, a thing of endurance as much as it is a thing of beauty, made from thick wood and the shiniest of iron. The Venetians must’ve felled an entire forest to build it. 

Rows upon rows of oars protrude from the sides, as if its size didn’t make it seem unwieldy enough. The remnants of a burnt flag hang from one of the ship’s masts, stirring in the breeze. Deep engravings run from bow to stern, crowning the work. 

The port is almost as busy as the marketplace just before noon. Sails of galliots, cogs, and smaller vessels fill the docks with bright colors, looking like autumn leaves drifting on the water from this distance. The galleass dwarfs them all, drowning them in its shadow as it towers above them.

His friend, the master shipwright of the Ottoman fleet, has invited him to the launch of many of their ships. Years ago, _Half Moon_ —so named for its sheer size—had been the first ship he’d seen launched. He still remembers the angry waves as it claimed its place in the sea and displaced the water.

Standing on the deck of that galleass, he can look down the tip of Half Moon’s mast. He frowns at the thought as if he’s just seen the sun rise in the west.

The galleass proves Venetians are the masters at the art of shipbuilding. Sneering, he tugs his scarf past his nose and mouth. 

“Where’d they even find the balls to build a ship that big?”

He scratches at his neck, yanking his scarf down. His skin itches from all the sand the desert wind blew into his clothes. As he jostles his scarf, he tries to rid it of all the grains of sand, and reaches for the flask of water at his waist.

Despite wearing the scarf, his throat feels thick and dry, like he swallowed a handful of sand at once. Spening days in the desert has made his water grow stale, but a swig of it is still enough to wet his throat. 

He downs the rest of it. Now that he’s reached the city, he can replenish his provisions.

He imagines the Venetian commander’s reaction when he hears about the loss of their war ship. He would give up his stallion if it meant he could witness the look of shame and defeat on that bastard’s face as he learns the galleass is under their control now. 

Losing a ship at sea—to a storm, pirates, a reef—it happens. But they lost a ship to its intended victim. A rush of pride swells in his chest and he lifts his chin high, looking down at the ship.

“What do you think, Sadik? Did I exaggerate?” the master shipwright preens as he comes up beside him, their servants stopping a respectable twenty feet behind. Sadik continues plucking at the creases in his clothes to rid himself of the desert sand.

“No, yer right, Gürsel. I _do_ wanna see these spoils,” he says, grinning down at their prize. He had hesitated to stray from the orders that carried him all the way to Tounes, but now he’s glad he accepted the invitation.

The grand _vezir_ would have his hide if he delayed his duties for frivolities again. But a ship of this size and beauty will have something worthwhile, Sadik knows. His hands tighten around the reins of his horse. The finest coffers always hide the finest treasures. And after the crew has taken their pick of the spoils, the rest will go up for auction at the market.

“I can’t get enough of this sight,” his friend breathes out in wonder. “See? I told you it was a beautiful ship, but you didn’t listen to me. Such a fine ship,” he repeats, “and now it’s ours. The Sultan will be pleased, don’t you think?”

Sadik looks at the figurehead of a woman in strange, Venetian garb, at the carved figures dancing on the stern, at the remains of the Venetian flag dangling in the wind, and shakes his head.

“It ain’t one of ours yet,” he imagines the ship gutted from all its art, imagines it rebuilt and sailing under Ottoman colors. “But we’re gonna make it ours,” he laughs.

He steers his horse with a light squeeze of his calves and spurs it on, “Let’s go.”

“One moment, please,” Gürsel says, wiping the beads of sweat from his forehead. “I only just caught up to you. You really shouldn’t speed off like that, you know.”

“Sadik?” Gürsel looks up from the pile of sand he shook out of his sleeve, still in time to see Sadik disappearing down the hill and a cloud of dust heading his way. “Sadik! Sadi—Oh, not again.”

\---

The plaza is a wide open space of stone and sand in the center of Tounes, with the city walls looming in the background. It seems large enough to fit a _dandan_ inside of it, Sadik thinks.

He could be wrong about its size. The plaza is busy, teeming with market stalls and crawling with people that obscure his view. Large as the plaza is, the crowd is bigger, and it moves with disorganized purpose. From atop the wall, the plaza must resemble an anthill. 

Due to the rich merchants and statesmen that follow them like a shadow, slave auctions take up the southern half of the plaza. Their pavilions claim more space than necessary to house them, their servants, and their provisions.

The auction itself comprises a wooden pen so packed with slaves it leaves no room for them to sit, and a stone circle in the center. It's five feet wide and lined with colored bricks, functioning as a stage for the auctioneer to display the slaves. A layer of sand covers its surface, like it covers most of everything in Tounes.

The pavilions form a crescent between the plaza’s fountain and the stage. Since he’s a guest, the merchant who had snatched the best spot insisted Sadik should take it. The spot lies in the middle of the crescent, providing him with access to water from the fountain, shade, and a good view. Any other comfort he wants, he can buy.

He motions for one of his servants carrying a silver plate. Fresh, finger-thin melon slices line the plate in a neat circle. As he plucks one from the platter, juice runs down his fingers. He passes the plate to his old friend with a nod. “ _Afiyet olsun._ ”

The shipwright is a native of the region and suffers the heat well. But the sun is brutal an hour after noon, and the heat settles even under the white cloth of their pavilion. On top of the hill, there had been a breeze to cool them down. As the market place is deep in the city, on flat land, and surrounded by stone walls and buildings, the wind doesn’t reach this far.

With a bow of gratitude, Gürsel grabs a piece and returns the plate to the servants. Whereas his friend sits up straight, Sadik reclines against the cool, silk-covered pillows they brought with them, crossing one leg over the other.

The crew being sold a few feet away must wish to trade places with them. Barring their future as a slave, Sadik knows he would hate to trade places with them, at least. The pen isn’t covered, leaving the crew to burn in the sun. 

While he enjoys his piece of melon, a merchant from a neighboring tent enters the plaza’s center, inspecting the crewman up for auction. The merchant looks like most rich men, dressed in robes that scream his wealth. The slave looks scrawny, torn trousers sticking to his legs from sweat. Neither man holds his interest, and Sadik looks past them at the pen of remaining slaves. 

He takes another bite of his slice, more to enjoy the taste than to stifle any hunger. Just behind the auctioneer, the remaining crew awaits their turn, chained down and surrounded by guards. He cranes his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the remainders, but the guards block his view. Most of the crew haven’t been this well-protected in their life, he’s sure.

At least a hundred of the crew have already sold, including those with rich families that will pay half their savings as ransom. The ones who won’t earn a decent ransom are saved for last, the sun scorching their skin.

Many merchants are already packing up, satisfied with their share. And as the audience dwindles, so do the prices. Though the crew must be running out, too.

The auctioneer settles for a price lower than Sadik would have and stumbles over another foreign name as the merchant drags his slave away. A guard pushes a new man to the center. 

This one has been luckier than the others. A tattered shirt clings to his frame. The tears render the shirt worthless for anybody else, but as a shield against the sun, it’s priceless to the crewman. 

Other than the shirt, there’s nothing notable about the man. Brown hair, brown eyes, a bulky build, and a baseborn name. 

He has seen and bought more than enough of those. “Just like the other crew,” Sadik sighs. 

Nobody even braves the smothering heat of the sun to inspect the man up close. Only murmurs break the silence until one of the poorer merchants shouts a price that’s more an insult than a bid. Other bids trickle in, but the man sells for two hundred akçe. 

Sadik pities him. A price that low foretells bad treatment, as cheap slaves are easy to buy and easy to replace. 

“This is the last one, see?” Gürsel says, nodding at the guards abandoning their posts, revealing the empty pen behind them.

“Oh,” Sadik perks up, propping up his head with his palm as he watches the guards dismantle the pen. 

He yawns, stretching his arms and legs before sitting up. “Maybe we should follow their example.” He jerks his thumb at the new slaves behind him. “We both got a new pair already, whaddya say?” 

And if he leaves now, he won’t have to keep the Amir waiting. He’ll have to hurry, but—

But then his eyes land on the last crewman. 

The man’s skin is as fair as his hair, though his back and shoulders are clearly sunburnt. Sadik winces. It looks as if someone dumped boiling water down his back. 

At a glance he can tell this man is the strongest out of the whole crew, with muscles that look as hard as iron. More chains accompany the man’s bigger body, wrapped around his ankles and between the curves of his arms, trapping his hands behind his back, emphasizing his broad shoulders. The chains look like they're about to break from the strain.

Gürsel says something, but he doesn’t catch it, wondering instead why they would save this crewman for last.

Bruises and scars litter the man’s skin. With his burnt skin and his battered body, the man looks more like a wreck than the galleass they captured. Somehow the man has scraped enough energy together to lift his head, keeping his posture stiff and straight. He reminds Sadik of a proud soldier standing in formation, promising trouble for his enemy. 

Ah. That explains why the auctioneer saved him for last. The stubborn ones are always a gamble. Will they be worth the money or not? Better to have a weak slave who will do as they’re told than a strong slave who won’t.

“Five hundred,” one of the remaining merchants to his left says. 

Chatter on the plaza falls silent for a few seconds, until a second merchant on their right shouts, “Seven hundred!”

The man turns his head in the direction of the highest bidder, showing off a large bruise across his temple.

The whispers start up again, mixed with sounds of contempt from merchants who find the gamble too risky. The auctioneer squeezes the man’s arm, opening his mouth to praise his features and raise the price further, but the man hisses something and jerks free before the auctioneer can start.

Sadik stuffs his mouth, finishing a second slice of melon to distract himself. He tries not to think of the press of hard muscles against his own body, of throwing the man down to the ground and fucking that resolve right out of him. He shouldn’t get involved. He’s already spent enough money.

After some deliberation, the merchant in the tent next to his continues the bidding, delighting the auctioneer. “Twelve hundred!”

Sadik’s stomach coils tightly as the man turns his head in their direction. His eyes are narrowed to feral slits, resting on Sadik before they snap to his neighbor.

“What was his name again?” he asks Gürsel.

“Ludik, I believe. Wait, no… Ludwig,” Gürsel pauses, closing his eyes, then shrugs. “Something like it, at least.”

The wounds all over Ludwig’s body. The amount of chains holding him down. The proud stance.

Sadik swallows. _Kostantiniyye_ looks easier to conquer than Ludwig. He lets out a deep breath and gets up, heading towards the center.

“I really think you shouldn’t, Sadik,” his friend calls after him. “I thought you wanted to leave?”

The sun bears down on him as soon as he leaves their tent, agreeing with his friend. Still, his feet refuse to turn around and instead lead him closer to the stage.

“Just gonna have a look!” he calls back, crossing the hot sand of the plaza until he’s a foot away from Ludwig.

Up close, he can see the fury in Ludwig’s eyes, harsh and scalding like the heat of the sun. 

Sadik eyes his body up and down, moving from his bright blue eyes to cracked lips, to the sculpted chest and abdomen, and even further down. He takes his time walking slow circles around Ludwig, admiring his muscles and the way Ludwig twitches when he drags a fingertip down his burnt back. 

When he faces Ludwig again, he grabs his chin to turn his face from side to side. He leans in, inspects the wounds to see if they'll scar, and finds he has to look up.

The largest bruise stretches over Ludwig’s right temple. As he stares at Ludwig, he can see the eye won’t open as much as his left. It’s too swollen. A smaller bruise mars the bottom half of the opposite cheek, purpling the skin.

The injuries don’t stop at his face. A sword has cut his side while his arms are etched with smaller scratches.

Sadik catalogs them all, letting his fingers map ragged, injured skin as Ludwig fails to suppress his shivers.

He cradles his chin, thumb poised above the bruised cheek. Ludwig swallows and closes his eyes, so Sadik pauses, giving him time to let it sink in, daring him to resist what he is about to do. When Ludwig opens his eyes again, something uncertain and vulnerable flashes across his eyes.

There’s a warm spark in the pit of Sadik’s stomach at that. It’s a good look on Ludwig. 

He smiles and drags the pad of his thumb over the purple bruise, all the way from Ludwig's cheekbone to the corner of his mouth, eager to see more of it. The spark spreads through his stomach and burns in his chest as Ludwig hisses, his features contorting in pain.

But then Ludwig surprises him. The tip of his tongue darts out, licking the patch of his lips where Sadik’s thumb just was. As if he’s tasting something.

Realization strikes him, and Sadik smiles, certain of one thing. The brat will ruin him if he’s not careful.

"Don't worry, Ludwig, this next bit won’t hurt ya."

Ludwig does not understand his words and keeps glaring at him. That's all right. He’ll understand the last part of the inspection even if he doesn’t speak Turkish.

His hand wraps around the belt of Ludwig’s breeches, yanking hard enough that his hips follow. They knock into Sadik’s side, chains rattling behind them.

Despite the blistering heat, despite the beating he’s suffered, Ludwig digs his heels into the sand and resists with a growl. It feels like he’s dragging an anchor.

“Suppose if ya can’t serve me well in bed, ya could always serve me well on the battlefield,” he grins up at Ludwig, shoving his other hand inside the breeches and down between his legs. His eyes never leave Ludwig’s, watching the rage turn to shame, then to both.

As he traces the length of his cock, Sadik's eyes widen. His lips curve up in a wicked smile. “ _Oh_. But that’d be a real waste now, wouldn’t it?”

Though Ludwig can’t understand his words, he must pick up on the tone. He narrows his eyes, his lips curling up to bare his teeth like a wolf. It would’ve made for a frightening sight without the flushed cheeks. 

With a pat on his unbruised cheek, Sadik releases Ludwig, straightening up as he pulls his hand out of his breeches. He turns to the auctioneer and wears his most charming smile.

With this many interested parties, Ludwig won’t sell for less than two thousand akçe, even if he is a gamble.

“Let’s haggle.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> During the process of writing this chapter, I couldn't help but rewrite the first chapter as well. It's mostly the same, I've just rewritten small parts and added on some details.
> 
> And this update is about 8 months later than intended. But at least we've finally gotten to some of the smut with this chapter!

“I’m afraid that we cannot lower the price anymore,” the _qadi_ says, a tremor rattling his voice.

Sadik rolls his head to get the stiffness out of his neck. He beckons a servant closer, helping himself to another couple of olives from the gaudy plate as he glares around the room.

After buying Ludwig, he left him in the care of his servants and hurried through the desert south of Tounes, followed by the vast lands of the Amir’s summer palace and the neighboring oasis. The desert blew enough sand into his clothes to fill a barrel. Again.

All to meet the Amir’s lackeys. 

He savors the olive, chewing it slowly while the ten council members watch him. Some of them clear their throat as if they’re about to contribute something. Others shuffle on their oversized pillows, settling in a new position for a moment before they revert to their earlier choice. 

Sadik swallows, opens his mouth, and picks another olive, staring the head qadi down until the man looks away. Once he’s finished his second olive, he glances around the palace’s council room. Everything in the palace is massive, claiming more space than necessary, and the council room is no exception. 

The walls are covered in a mosaic of shiny, blue tiles, fading into a white ceiling that’s high enough to fit a mammoth underneath. Expensive carpets with intricate designs cover the floor while wide, silk pillows hug three of the walls to seat the council members. 

And it has an empty seat in the middle. The gap draws Sadik’s attention, prominent and irritating like a missing tooth.

“Your Amir’s letter mentioned lowering the duties to one tenth for most fish. What changed?”

“Our honorable Amir regrets to inform you that this year’s catch has been lacking. He cannot afford to go lower than one fifth.”

“Ya don’t say. And the duties on grain?” 

“The harvest is... Ah, it has disappointed our most esteemed leader, and he fears—”

“How about wool?” Sadik says, hiding his scowl. His skin itches the more the man talks.

“A-A warehouse caught fire just last mon—”

“The way this is goin’, I almost hate to ask after your Amir.”

The head qadi shares a look with the others, wondering how to take that. “ _S-Sidi_. Unfortunately, he was bound by other duties, as you'll recall I mentioned earlier.”

He snorts, giving the qadi a dark smile as he remembers how a servant escorted him past Spanish soldiers in the palace garden. “Tell me then, what about his proposal to help us conquer the Spaniards?” 

A qadi to his right chokes on something, coughing until he’s red in the face. 

Their leader turns aside, whispering with the others while throwing him a few spare glances.

“Didn’t think it was that difficult a question,” Sadik says, raising his voice to warn the council. He could’ve been back with Ludwig already, but instead they force him to sit through this farce of a meeting. 

All the councillors jerk back, eyes wide like they just woke a _jinni_. Their leader rights himself and looks Sadik in the eye, dabbing a handkerchief over the sweat on his forehead.

“Given our position, we are under a greater threat from the Spaniards than anyone, and our venerable Amir recognizes that this is a delicate matter requiring much thought. He feels that he cannot give you an answer until he has heard the opinions of us, his qadis, and his sheikhs.”

“All two thousand of ‘em?” Sadik sneers. Too often, leaders are eager to invite war to their home, until the reality of it knocks on their door. He had expected them to dawdle, but not this much. Such a gathering will take months, even if they hurry. Either way, it will be too long for the vezir's liking.

“Indeed, sidi. I’m certain you understand, this is not—”

“This ain’t what you promised. _That_ I understand.”

The man goes quiet, his gaze floundering around the room, looking for another qadi to take over. Sadik regains his attention by getting up from his pillow, eager to return to his room in the _caravanserai_. 

“The Sultan,” he starts, reminding them who he represents, “thanks you for your time. I'll be in Edirne while ya discuss things.”

\---

Sadik rides hard and fast through the palace's garden, over its marble tiles that pave the way to the main gate, weaving past fountains and servants. It's not so he can be with Ludwig sooner, even if the idea does tempt him. He will not burden his horse to slake his impatience.

It's to ease his annoyance at the council meeting. The qadi lied to him, stuttering excuses that conflict with the vezir's reports. The panic on his face also revealed the man had no idea what he was saying. They thought him an idiot, thought that they could break their promise to the Sultan and that he would accept it. 

The irritation is an itch just under his skin. Controlling the power his horse lends him scratches the itch a little. 

The gate comes into view at the end of the path, but Sadik does not slow down. The guards dash forward, rushing to open the gate wide enough before he barrels through.

Once outside, he stops urging on his horse. Over the space of half a mile, its gait falls from a gallop to a canter, ending in an easy trot. Clouds of sand billow behind them, shrinking in size as his horse slows down.

A rocky path leads from the Amir's palace to the nearest caravanserai that he resides in. It's a thin scar that runs through the desert, winding past massive dunes. At times the road curves around air, passing dunes that have long disappeared, but at least the Amir's maintenance prevents it from leading through newly formed dunes.

When he's left the Amir's palace far behind him, he drops the reins of his horse and pats the side of its neck. He moves with his horse, steering it with his hips or a squeeze of his thighs instead.

It leaves his hands free to uncork the flask he filled with cool, fresh water in the Amir's palace. As he arches his back to work the stiffness out of his muscles, he tips his head back and pours the water down his throat. 

The sun is close to setting on his left. It will be dark before he returns to the caravanserai where Ludwig awaits him. 

He recorks his flask and lets it dangle from the strap on his hips again. As he wets his lips, he wonders how thirsty Ludwig is by now. Would Ludwig still be seething or would he have managed to fall asleep? He instructed his servants to tie Ludwig to a post in his room and leave him there without food or water. Sadik wants to be the first person to offer him comfort.

His eyes flick to the sun, noting its position. The caravanserai is nearby, little more than a dozen miles away from the palace, but there is nothing between those two points except for himself. The sheer scale of the desert is impressive, adding to its beauty. 

Sand and sky surrounds him. Everywhere he looks, the landscape repeats itself, making him feel small, like a mustard seed in the desert. He follows the path, knows he's nearing the caravanserai, and still he questions if he's made any progress, if he's not just riding in a circle. 

If he'd never traversed a desert before, he would've panicked and abandoned the path. He would've found the highest dune and climbed it only to see the horizon filled with more sand. He would've wasted his energy and lost his direction.

But he sticks to the road and passes the time by thinking of Ludwig.

The sky is black and cold by the time he nears the caravanserai. Three figures guard its only entrance, torches ensconced in the wall beside them. Candles and oil lamps flicker behind some of the windows. The lights give the building a warm glow, making it look even brighter against the dark sky behind it.

He greets the guards as they release the heavy iron chains securing the entry, clearing the way for him. The gate is made of thick wood and creaks open slowly, even with three men pushing it. 

The rough-hewn stone of the outer wall is at least three feet wide, barring unwanted visitors from the caravanserai. Passing through the entryway is like crossing a border from the void of the desert back to civilization.

Traders and travellers have set up stalls in the courtyard inside and filled it with their wares. They're in the only caravanserai around for miles in the desert with little else to pass the time, so a crowd still fills the courtyard. Merchants negotiate over saddles and shoes and all the things a traveller needs on their journey.

An arcade with curved roofs encloses the square courtyard. Its halls contain a dozen thick, wooden doors each. Two of his servants are inspecting the wares, too, before they notice him dismount and hurry to him. 

"See anything interesting?" he asks the older of the two.

"Unfortunately not, Sadik _efendi_. But," his servant continues with a surreptitous nod at a nearby stall, "we did find a blacksmith selling what you requested." 

He clasps his servant by the shoulder, smiling, "Ya did well. Make sure to bring it up to my room later. First I want ya to see to my horse though. Have it fed, watered and sheltered."

As his servants lead his horse away, Sadik ignores the stalls and crosses the courtyard to his room..

The corner of his mouth pulls up in a grin of anticipation. He passes the row of rooms he rented for his servants until he reaches his own room. Without pausing, he grins and slams the door open. It crashes against the wall and would've surely startled Ludwig if he were there. But the room is empty.

The window is open, his clothes are strewn over the bed, and Ludwig is gone. He digs his nails into the flesh of his palms. 

"That damned brat..."

The wooden post in the middle of the room has been serrated through. A thick gap splits the beam apart, splintering around the edges. As he walks up to it, he notices it's just wide enough to fit chains through. Streaks of blood stretch across the front of the beam. When he leans outside of the window, he sees half of a bloody handprint staining the outside ledge.

Any footsteps Ludwig might have left behind have been blown away. All he sees is sand. 

Sadik can't decide between being angry or impressed, so his face settles in a weird mixture of the two, with his brows furrowed but his lips quirked. Ludwig will be his biggest challenge yet.

"Kuzey!" he shouts and waits. A few deep breaths later, his head servant has run in from the adjacent room.

"I'm here to serve, Sadik efendi." 

Sadik paces through the room, gesturing at the clothes, the gap in the post and the open window. Kuzey's eyes widen and he takes in a sharp breath once he notices the lack of Ludwig.

"No, I... This isn't possible. We left him chained up as you instructed, efendi! He couldn't have..." His servant trails off, as if Sadik has simply misplaced Ludwig. As if not saying the words out loud is enough to deny the truth in them.

"Escaped? He did, Kuzey. I'm as blind as you are, and I don't see him in the damn room," Sadik says. He can hear Kuzey fall silent near the door, not even breathing as he pieces everything together. 

Sadik leans closer to the gap in the beam, frowning as he eyes the marks of blood up close. Each mark is a scuffed stripe of deep, dark red that looks brown on the post. The floor near the post is dappled with spots of blood as well. Most are only the size of a pomegranate's seed, but there are too many of them. When he runs his thumb over the marks it comes back spotless. The blood has dried.

"Then with your permission, efendi, I'll gather everybody and we'll ride him down."

Sadik stays quiet as he thinks it over. After the meeting with the qadis, he had wanted to spend the night in his room, relaxing and worrying about nothing. And he's seen enough of the desert today to last him a decade. 

But then his eyes flick back to the blood-stained post and floor, and he thinks of Ludwig bleeding in the desert while he lazes around in his room. The decision is an easy one, and he turns around so suddenly that Kuzey snaps to attention.

"Not without me yer not. I want ya to get my saddle and prepare your horse for me. And bring the tents." Kuzey blinks at the request and cocks his head.

"The tents, efendi?"

Sadik turns to look out the window, over the vast expanse of the desert outside, "We're not leavin' before we find him." 

"But efendi, that may take days. A-and your orders..." Kuzey's words are soft, and he leaves the sentence unfinished when he realizes completing it would mean defiance. 

Still, Kuzey is right. Even with all his men, it'll take too long to search the surrounding desert. And the blood on the post has already dried, which means Ludwig has had time to put distance between them.

"Yer right," he sighs. His hand unties a bag of copper coins from his sash, and he tosses it to his servant. "Offer this as a reward to any man who'll listen. It's theirs if they can bring me Ludwig."

It's not much, but he needs all the pairs of eyes he can get.

While Sadik refills his flask with the water in his room, Kuzey stays still and silent in the doorway.

"What is it?" His servant keeps his head bowed, avoiding looking him in the eye.

"Alive, efendi?"

" _Yes_. I ain't payin' this much for a corpse."

As he searches through his clothes, he flings several pieces out of his way, making a bigger mess than Ludwig did, until he's found his warmest tunic. "The clever bastard's gonna head back north, the way we came from. He knows what to expect there."

"Even if we have a direction, that's still a huge area, efendi..."

"I noticed," he says with a scowl. He thinks, pacing from the window to the doorway and back. Chasing Ludwig and combing through the desert only gives him more time to escape, more time to put added distance between them. The Sultan, spending nights studying books upon books until his hands are ink-stained, would devise a clever plan, Sadik knows. 

As he reaches the window and turns to Kuzey again, he takes a step towards him and stops. He drops his gaze to his feet, traces the distance along the length of the floor to the doorway, then looks up at Kuzey. He grins.

"So we're gonna ride as far north as he could've gone and set up a base there. Then we work our way back to the caravanserai."

For a short moment, Kuzey does nothing but stand there and gape at him, until Sadik's grin gets replaced by a frown. 

"The first person I catch wastin' time is walkin' back to Tounes on foot, Kuzey."

"I hear and I obey, efendi!" Kuzey bows low and rushes out of his room. Soon after, he hears the noise of people tripping over themselves and over furniture to flee out of the adjacent room.

The guards of the caravanserai give him a strange look as he exits the gate so soon after entering. People don't visit the inn for less time than it takes to perform morning prayer, but Sadik pays it no attention. His thoughts are set on Ludwig.

\---

The horse's hooves thrum against the earth in a fast gait. Coupled with his racing heart, the steady rhythm beats inside of him, pounding like a wardrum. It courses through him, throbbing all the way to the tips of his fingers and his toes.

A hawk screeches in the distance.

He feels like a teenager learning how to hunt wild game again. His eyes track any movement, any odd shape, even if he has to do it in the flickering light of his servants' torches.

But he doesn't find Ludwig that night.

Images of Ludwig dying of thirst, of hunger, of both fill his mind when he tries to sleep. Worry sinks its fangs into his throat, tightens around his chest like a viper. Ludwig could be bleeding out in some sand pit right now. He could get captured by a Bedouin tribe, Sadik tells himself, even if the Bedouin haven't raided near the area for months.

The day's exhaustion settles in, weighs him down. Sleep only claims him by night's end.

Come morning, it's not sunlight that wakes him, but Kuzey shaking his shoulder. When he wills his eyes to blink open, white cloth and wooden poles fill his vision. Kuzey has to repeat himself twice before the syllables seem to fit together into sounds he recognizes as words.

"We've received news from a scout. They've captured him, efendi. They have him."

Sadik smiles and enjoys a deep, deep breath.

He has time for morning prayer and light breakfast before a figure appears from behind the sloped side of a faraway dune. A hawk circles above him. 

Three more figures come into view then, trailing behind the first man. Ludwig's captor, his servants, and what he hopes is Ludwig.

Sadik squints against the sharp, bright rays of the sun. The figures are too far gone to discern any details, and he can't tell which one amongst them is Ludwig. 

"It was the hunter from the caravanserai that found him, efendi," Kuzey says from his right.

"He did a good job, I gotta admit. Did he say how far Ludwig got?"

"Nearly six fersah." 

Sadik whistles at that, impressed. He wonders if Ludwig slept as little as him last night, if he slept at all. He couldn't have enjoyed much sleep to get that far in this terrain. Ludwig had lacked the strength to run last he saw him, even if he had wanted to be a fool and try.

"Well," he pivots, returning to the protective cover his tent provides, "send 'em inside once they get here."

\---

Sadik decants a flask of water into a ceramic bowl when he hears muttering outside. He recognizes Kuzey, but the other voice is as quiet as a breeze, and Sadik can't hear what he says.

Footsteps scuffle over the sand outside, heading towards his tent before the front flap is pulled back. After a push and a stumble, Ludwig thuds against the carpet in front of him like a boneless sack of flour, followed by the hunter stepping inside. 

The brat is a mess. Sadik tries to find a piece of him that's not injured in some way. Old and new bruises and cuts cover his skin everywhere he looks, while his lower arms are caked in crusted blood. Grains of sand stick to his arms as well, embedded in the dried blood. The mass of it centers around the dirty shackles around his wrists.

The hunter behind Ludwig is tall and lanky, draped from head to toe in dark blue cloth, his face covered behind a mask. Not a sliver of him is exposed. His right shoulder and lower arm are padded with extra cloth and leather. His left hand holds the chain attached to the fetters around Ludwig's wrists. A hawk perches on top of the shoulder pad, its head bobbing left and right, but otherwise remaining as still as its owner. 

Ludwig remains lying on the floor, his back rising and falling with every pant of breath, his head resting on his right cheek. His left eye has opened a crack and meets Sadik's gaze. There is no response from Ludwig, no recognition. 

Sadik scowls at the hunter, not bothering to hide his displeasure. 

"He was difficult to capture," the hunter's soft voice chimes. 

"He was _in chains_."

"Which did not stop him from retaliating." The hunter pulls up the side of his robe like a curtain, revealing a bruise at his waist. 

The bruise looks pathetic and weak in comparison to Ludwig's own wounds. Even so, Sadik finds himself impressed by Ludwig's tenacity. As he glances down at him, that heavy feeling stirs low in his stomach again.

The hunter comes closer, stepping around Ludwig as he hands over the chain and a bundle of fancy green cloth with gold trimmings. 

"He was wearing this. It looked too expensive to be his," the hunter says with a smile.

As Sadik holds it out in front of him, it unfolds like a scroll of paper, revealing bloody stains on the garment's sleeves. It's one of his missing tunics. He throws it aside on a nearby crate and nods at the hunter. "Thanks for returning 'em to me. My servant has yer reward."

The hunter inclines his head without disturbing the hawk. "Pleasure doing business with you."

Once the hunter leaves, Sadik is finally left alone with Ludwig. The sound of Ludwig's panting fills the tent. As Sadik stands over him, staring him in the eye, he realizes this is the first time it's just the two of them in a secluded room. It's not under the circumstances he would've liked, but he'll make do.

Ludwig's shackled arms are pinned beneath his chest in an uncomfortable position, but he makes no move to sit up. There is no anger or defiance in his eyes anymore. His face is slack, expressionless, as if he's sleeping with his eyes open. It makes Ludwig look frighteningly vulnerable.

He had intended to be cruel, to punish Ludwig for fleeing. But Ludwig already looks punished enough. As he crouches and hoists him up by his upper arm, guiding him to lean back against a wooden crate, Ludwig neither helps nor resists.

Once settled, Ludwig's head lolls back against the top of the crate, his legs splaying on the carpet. By now his right eye has swollen shut entirely due to the dark, purple bruise on his temple. The other eye won't open more than a sliver. 

A thick line of fresh blood has dripped down his nose and is drying on his chin and neck. His hair is a mess and his lip is split, and the rest of his body is no less injured. There is a stutter in his chest whenever he takes a deep breath, followed by a wheeze. 

Sadik doesn't want to know the amount of pain it would take to stop Ludwig. But now he realizes that pain won't form Ludwig to his will. Ludwig will break before he bends. 

Ludwig struggles to keep his gaze on him as he steps away, returning with a filled flask. Sadik still can't read anything from his face. Exhaustion is the only visible emotion, so plain and clear Sadik himself almost tires just from looking at it. Digging for anything else underneath that layer of exhaustion is like staring at the sun to discover what's behind it. Sadik is not enough of a fool to try.

He settles on one knee next to the crate, leaning over him so his body fills Ludwig's vision. With one hand he cups the back of Ludwig's head, while the other opens the flask and presses it to his mouth. "Drink."

But when the spout nears his lips, Ludwig closes his eye and his mouth, facing away with a frown. 

"C'mon, quit bein' so difficult." 

He gives Ludwig a moment to reconsider, watching his struggle. The tip of his tongue darts out and tries to wet his cracked lips, for all the good it does, but he doesn't give in. Perhaps it's pride. Perhaps it's shame. Or perhaps this is how Ludwig resists when he has no energy to physically fight him. 

It doesn't matter. Sadik's expression hardens into one of rare seriousness, and he glares down at Ludwig. His fingers tighten around strands of blond hair as a warning. It earns him Ludwig's attention as one eye opens and turns to him.

"I'm not givin' you a choice, here. Drink," he pushes the flask closer to Ludwig's mouth. "Or I'll force it down your throat." His voice drops to a growl, making his meaning clear to Ludwig even if the words themselves won't.

Ludwig stares at him a moment longer, then lowers his gaze to the floor in defeat. He closes his eyes and gulps, parting his lips. 

With the hand twisted in Ludwig's hair, Sadik gently lifts his head until it's easier to drink. Then he tips the flask up, pouring the water into his mouth.

A thin line of water trickles past his lips as he struggles to swallow everything, the bump of his throat rapidly moving up and down.

The image of Ludwig lying in front of him, eyes closed in relief, chest heaving as he swallows down whatever Sadik offers him is one he won't soon forget.

He empties the entire flask down Ludwig's throat. The stream thins, and he smiles when Ludwig decides to tilt his head back himself, ensuring he catches the last few drops. He eases his grip on Ludwig's hair, massaging his scalp with his fingertips to reward his behavior. 

A slight change passes over Ludwig's expression. It's so subtle, Sadik would've surely missed it if he hadn't been committing the image to his memory. His features relax, his brows unfurrowing until the crease between them disappears, and he rests his head in Sadik's hand. 

He grins, but hurries to suppress it when Ludwig opens his eye again. Pain might not work, but perhaps pleasure will entice him to submit. It'll be fun to try, at least.

Sadik twists to put away the flask. Once he turns to Ludwig again, he notices the way his gaze travels down his body. When he'd purchased Ludwig, he'd been wearing enough layers that only the lower half of his face was visible. This time he is only wearing a simple tunic, exposing his neck, chest and most of his face.

Sadik's smile is the smuggest it's ever been. The action draws Ludwig's eyes back up to his face, and he swallows nervously at being caught. Rage and shame flicker over his face, just like when they first met.

The memory of it inspires him.

He inclines his head just a fraction, trying to convey his intentions to Ludwig, and continues to massage the back of his head.

From the wary look he receives, Sadik guesses he'll have to clarify.

With his free hand, he wipes away the trickle of water on Ludwig's chin, and presses the pad of his thumb against his lips. Ludwig's eyes widen, and his body freezes, going as still as a statue. Not even his chest moves as Sadik runs his thumb over his upper lip, followed by the lower one, smearing droplets of water over his lips.

Unlike Ludwig, Sadik doesn't stop moving. He lowers his head even further and moves his other hand down Ludwig's neck, rubbing in circles to coax the muscles there to relax.

"C'mon. Easy now."

The cruelty of the day and the desert must've whittled away at his defenses, because eventually Ludwig relents. His tongue flicks out to his lips once Sadik moves his thumb away, and his chest moves as he begins to breathe again. Ludwig's eye looks like it would've been half-lidded even if he could open it fully.

Sadik switches between massaging the back of Ludwig's neck and the back of his head. He closes the other over Ludwig's throat in a loose grip, feeling his throat bob beneath his hand as Ludwig gulps. It's the only movement that Ludwig lets slip.

Once he moves his hand further down, he splays his fingers over Ludwig's chest. The rhythm in which it rises and falls slows down as he breathes in and out more deeply. Sadik finds his own breathing has grown heavier as well. The way Ludwig is lying back, letting Sadik do what he wants to him, stokes a fire within him. It burns in the pit of his stomach, slowly trickling down.

He can feel Ludwig's heart skip a beat against his hand when he moves it again, stopping at the edge of Ludwig's trousers. There's a twitch of Ludwig's leg when he dips the tips of his fingers past the drawstring, brushing over the skin hidden just beneath the waistband. The muscles there tremble in what Sadik hopes is excitement.

As he teases the edge of his nails over the patch of skin, Ludwig hisses, sucking in a breath. Chains rattle when Ludwig lifts his hands, touching the palm of one hand to Sadik's arm. It doesn't try to push him away. Instead, it holds onto him.

Sadik gives him a filthy grin and pulls his fingers away, moving them further down, but on the outside of Ludwig's trousers. When he first saw the boneless heap of Ludwig in front of him this morning, he hadn't meant to go this far. Ludwig needs rest, while he gives him the opposite. But he never wastes a good opportunity to seize what he wants. He strikes while the iron glows red-hot.

He cups Ludwig through the cloth, tracing the length of his hardening cock in a pace that's insultingly slow.

The frown returns to Ludwig face, and he glares up at Sadik. 

He had hoped to coax some movement from Ludwig, but he must still be too tired.

"Don't worry, Ludwig. I'll make it up to ya." With that promise, he lowers his head the rest of the way, dragging his mouth over the side of Ludwig's neck. Once he seals his lips over a particular spot on his neck and sucks, Ludwig gives a weak buck of his hips and lets out a low, rumbling moan. It's nowhere near loud enough for Sadik's liking, but it's a start. He's confident he can drag more noises out of Ludwig in time.

For now, he huffs out a victory laugh against Ludwig's neck. In case it caused any offense, he combs his fingers through Ludwig's hair and presses himself closer in an attempt to soothe any ruffled feathers. 

He keeps his touch gentle, lets his hand return to Ludwig's stomach and chest. It explores Ludwig's body as he mouths over the side of his neck. Ludwig lets his own hands drop to the floor, burying his fingers in the carpet.

As tired as they both are, Sadik doesn't rush things for once. He takes his time to massage Ludwig's sore muscles. He kneads the firm flesh joining his neck and shoulder until it drags another moan from Ludwig's throat. 

Everywhere he moves his hands, Ludwig seems to relax, to surrender under his touch. His eye is half-closed, giving him a look Sadik can't decipher. The only thing he can make out is the exhaustion. 

Then Ludwig spreads his legs for him, and it's Sadik's turn to go still.

He pulls his head back, looking down at the bulge in Ludwig's trousers. Staring is all he does for a long moment. When he remembers to breathe, he snaps out of the reverie and his thoughts return to him. 

As he hurries to undo the ties of Ludwig's trousers, he registers the sound of fabric ripping somewhere. Unsure if it's even Ludwig's or if it's his own, he pays it no mind. All his attention is focused on Ludwig's cock. 

With the change in positions, Ludwig uses the opening to slump against him, burying his forehead against the side of his neck. Ludwig grunts, managing a weak, desperate thrust into his hand before he goes limp. At first Sadik assumes Ludwig finally came, but the hard length that throbs in his hand proves him wrong. The single thrust must've drained him of what little energy he had built up.

Sadik is nowhere near as tired, so he keeps going, keeps massaging Ludwig's scalp and jerking his cock. 

Whenever he keeps the same pace, Ludwig’s eye begins to glaze over and his shoulders sag, head dipping forward like he can't support its weight.

So he speeds up and slows down, stroking Ludwig a little faster, then a little slower. Or he stops completely. Whatever it takes to get Ludwig's head to snap back up, gaze focused on him. All despite his exhaustion. 

“Still not there yet, huh? Ya know, I don’t like bein’ patient, but I’ll make an exception for ya.” He smiles at Ludwig. 

He leans in until his face fills Ludwig’s view, until he’s all that Ludwig sees, and until Ludwig is all that he sees. His lips are close enough to kiss Ludwig's. And then he stops.

Ludwig makes the mistake of looking down at his mouth. Both his eyes slip shut, all his muscles relaxing like he’s already in deep sleep. His head would've thumped against the wooden crate if Sadik's hand hadn't caught it.

So Sadik changes his pace immediately. He brushes his hand over the head of Ludwig’s cock, too, dragging his thumb over the slit mercilessly. “Come on, brat. After what ya put me through, yer stayin’ awake until I’m satisfied.”

Ludwig’s eye cracks open and, after several blinks, manage to find Sadik’s. Except for the labored breathing, his body doesn’t move at all, as if he’s under Sadik’s spell. 

It reminds Sadik of the snake charmers he saw in Tounes’s streets, the way the snakes didn’t move unless ordered. The feeling of control rushes up his spine in a hot flash and fills his head. 

He closes the gap between them, mouthing his way over Ludwig’s cheek until he finds the corner of his lips. After pulling back an inch, he finally presses their lips together.

He grabs Ludwig’s hip and drags their bodies closer, using his thigh as the nearest hard surface to grind against. Judging by Ludwig's expression and the way his mouth hangs open, Ludwig seems to enjoy it. 

The friction of his clothes rubbing against him wrings an unabashed moan from him. The sound sends Ludwig over the edge as he closes his eyes once more and comes with a quiet, exhausted huff of breath. 

While he had expected Ludwig to fall asleep as soon as he came, he's pleased to see that he's wrong. Ludwig's eye is cracked open, watching Sadik grind against him. His gaze grows dull and clouded as his awareness seems to fade out, though, even if his body is clinging to consciousness.

It's almost as if Ludwig is trying to wait for him to finish. With a final roll of his hips, he stills and does just that, coming inside of his clothes as his body trembles from the wave of pleasure coursing through him.

Ludwig's chest heaves as he takes a deep breath, falling once he exhales. After a handful more deep breaths, Ludwig's breathing settles. Sadik remains seated, resting his forehead against Ludwig's shoulder until he's caught his own breath as well. 

By the time he straightens up, Ludwig is finally asleep. 

With some effort, he manages to pick up the bruised and battered body and move him to the blankets that pass for his bed in the tent. 

He eyes the bowl of water he prepared earlier. They both need a bath.


End file.
